


let's be good to one another

by masonjars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, I really just wanted to write something where Harry's wearing that Saint Laurent fur vest tbh, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Post Zayn leaving, This happens during the break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonjars/pseuds/masonjars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having Harry here in his space, feet ahead of him as he walks along the lines of his garden, hand trailing beside him as he inspects each flower he goes by, brings back a familiarity to him. He's already teased him about his white fur vest, but among these flowers and the setting fall sun, it makes Harry looks regal. Zayn thinks Harry's about done his head in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's be good to one another

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this right after Zayn's Fader interview, but I got busy with class so I'm just now posting. This is fake deep as hell like everything else I write. I wanted to get this up before the new year/Christmas because I was tired of looking at it, so happy holidays! 
> 
> Title from You Came To Me by Beach House
> 
> Edit: I reread this and realized my grammar was fucked, I went back and fixed what I noticed but there still may be some mistakes. I'm trash and I need to edit things more

Having Harry here in his space, feet ahead of him as he walks along the lines of his garden, hand trailing beside him as he inspects each flower he goes by, brings back a familiarity to him. He's already teased him about his white fur vest, but among these flowers and the setting fall sun, it makes Harry looks regal. Zayn thinks Harry's about done his head in. 

“Didn't expect you to have a garden like this.” Harry says, making his way to the center of the garden, where the landscaper sat a black gazebo. The paint has chipped from the force of rain and wind and snow, and it looks a bit dingy over all, but Harry runs up the steps of it like an overexcited child. 

“Definitely didn't expect you to have this.” he laughs, hands over the railing as he looks out over his backyard, towards the human target and one of Zayn's carelessly parked dirt bikes. 

“Landscaper put it out here when I first moved in.” Zayn says, climbing up the steps to stand by Harry. They haven't been this close in ages, hip to hip, and Zayn can already feel the undercurrent of why Harry's here. 

“Lots of things I didn't expect you to have.” Harry says, eyes scanning over the vintage cars, over the rope bridge, until they stop on the little pub he had built just past the garden. 

“A pirate pub?” Harry laughs, turning toward Zayn, and Zayn's struck with the beauty of him, the dimples and the curls. It makes something turn in his stomach, something warm but menacing, because he knows he shouldn't get caught up in Harry again. Those days are over, he finds himself thinking, until Harry leans back over the railing, putting his legs and his little ass on display, and he's doesn't find himself thinking of much at all. 

“Why are you here?” Zayn says. It's harsh, too harsh, by the way Harry's face hardens. 

“Do you remember that month when you called me every Saturday night?” Harry says, voice strong and he's angry, Zayn can hear it in every syllable, “You were pissed and you begged me to come see you in L.A. Don't act like you aren't relieved to see me.” 

And it's true, true enough that it stings a little bit. L.A was a blur of drinking and smoking and haziness, and he can remember the nights he'd fall into bed and ring Harry like it was nothing. He is relieved to see him. 

Zayn doesn't say anything. He stands beside him, and watches the wind blow the tire swing Jawaad helped him put up last summer. 

Harry doesn't say anything either, and he figures this Harry is already different from the one he knew months ago. This Harry isn’t apologizing for losing his head, probably because he knows he's right and he's got nothing to be sorry for. 

It's silent besides for the rustling leaves and the clang of the wind chimes hanging from his porch. He doesn't know if he should invite Harry in, because it doesn't seem like he's leaving. There’s rickety lawn chairs sitting in the middle of the gazebo from when he had mates over this summer. They would sit around for ages and smoke, and sometimes they would pull out some of the equipment from inside and record vocals. Harry walks past them to sit on the steps to the gazebo, sitting with his back to Zayn. 

“I'm not sorry for what I said,” Harry starts once Zayn has sat down beside him, “but I didn't come over to argue.” Zayn doesn't say anything, he finds himself running his fingers over the cracks in the wood. He feels more like a coward than anything.

“It's a nice day out.” Harry comments, filling the silence. Zayn can't help but think Harry's judging him, sometimes he can't shake the feeling Harry believes he’s smarter than him, a trait he found in Harry when they first meet that still runs in his brain. The wind blows his curls and he looks something like a model, leaning back on his hands with his ankles crossed. 

“It is.” Zayn says, watching the way the sunlight shines down the slants of the gazebo to land on Harry's brown leather boot, shining glossily. 

“I'm sorry for calling you.” Zayn finally says. It was like I was falling into old habits, Zayn wants to blurt out, but he keeps it in his head. He misses the days he could call Harry over to his hotel room like it was nothing. He still has flashes of it behind his eyelids sometimes, images of his mouth on Harry's cock as he's wanking or the weight of Harry's legs on his shoulders when he's fucking some random from the club he was at that night. It's too much for him when he's drunk.

“It didn't bother me.” Harry says. Zayn thinks he's probably lying, but he doesn't press it. Harry lays back on the wood, and he pats the space beside him for Zayn. It feels familiar to lay beside him, like they're teenagers again. There's a slight awkwardness to it, though, and that doesn't melt away until Harry rolls on his side to face him. 

“Why did you answer every time?” Zayn blurts, regretting it as soon as it's out of his mouth. He isn't sure he wants to know the fucking answer.

Harry just stares at him, that guarded look on his face where Zayn can't tell what he's thinking. Sometimes he wishes he could dig inside his brain and pick apart the slow way he thinks. 

“Because I cared about you. I still care about you.” Harry finally settles on saying, face slightly smushed from laying on his arm. The wood has to hurt, pressed to his arm and his side. He's staring at Zayn in that wide eyed way, earnest and pretty and looking younger than he is. Some parts of Harry scare him, intimidate him even, but the part he show Zayn just makes him want to wrap him up and never let him go. He thinks about Gigi, and he thinks about how falling back into this would fuck up his whole life transformation he's got going on, but then he thinks about the fur of Harry's vest soft against his arm and the smell of coffee beans on his clothes and he’d throw it all away for him. It feels melodramatic but Zayn doesn't care. 

Zayn laces their fingers together, easy as it always was. Kissing him again feels painfully familiar, and his tongue tastes like the coffee on his clothes. Memories flood back and they make Zayn clutch at him like a life preserver, hands knotted up in the white fur. Harry's big hands find the back of his head and his knuckles brush against the side of Zayn's face, a sweet gesture that makes him want to sob. Everything about Harry makes him feel so much. 

His face is hard in the ways it used to be soft, more definition on his cheeks, and he looks striking staring back at Zayn. 

“Saw you've got a new girl.” Harry says, smiling that crooked smile that reminds him of way back, when he had Perrie and Harry in his bed; Harry on tour and Perrie when they both were home. He thinks about how that feels like centuries ago, when it was hardly a year. Things constantly feel like he's growing without realizing it, disorienting and somehow relieving.

“She's good.” Zayn says, voice sounding rough.

“A model,” Harry starts, fingers tracing down the bare skin exposed from Zayn's t-shirt sleeve, “and you've always liked blondes.”

“Except for you.” Zayn says, and it's cheesy, and it makes Harry roll his eyes. He can tell he likes it though, seeing through the way he tries to hide he isn't preening at the attention. 

They lay together on the wood floor until the sun goes down and it starts to get cold, a faint wind rattling the leaves above the gazebo. Harry's arms are bare minus the vest, and Zayn can feel the goosebumps popping up on his skin when he traces his fingers over it. 

“Do you want to come in?” Zayn asks. He thinks what he really wants to ask is if Harry will stay the night. He almost surprises himself with the fact he still wants Harry in his bed, and he wonders what he would do if Harry said no. 

“I haven't been inside your house in ages.” 

“It'll be like old times.” Zayn says, and he regrets it. He tries to not mention ‘old times’ as much anymore. 

Harry just smiles, small and almost sad looking. 

They walk into the house together, warm from the heater and still spicy smelling from the quick curry Zayn had made himself for lunch. Rhino’s nails click on the tile before he launches himself onto Zayn's legs, Harry watching in amusement as Zayn coos at him like he was a baby. Rhino sniffs Harry's pant leg, apprehensive and guarded, and sits down in front of him. Harry pats his head and walks into the kitchen like there's nothing ever awkward, like things are normal. He stands at the island and looks out at the window above the sink, looking beyond lovely and it's hard to comprehend him in his house. Being around Harry, and coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist feels like giving in. It feels like scratching off a scab and watching it fester.

Harry's warm, and he sets a hand on Zayn's, intertwined on his stomach. Zayn's got hair all in his face, but it's Harry, and he craves every piece of him he can get. 

“Missed you.” Zayn breathes into his shoulder, and it feels too intimate and he starts to panic like he's fucked it all up until Harry says, “I missed you too.” 

He kisses his shoulder, mouth pressed to that stupid fur vest, and travels upwards, feeling his beard catch on Harry's skin. He hears Harry sigh when he sucks lightly, the taste of Harry's skin soapy and clean. Harry turns his head to the side to kiss him, almost clocking Zayn in the nose, the familiarity and fond welling up inside him so thick that he could sob.

“Maybe things will be better this time.” Harry says, and Zayn's pressed so tight he can feel the rumble of the words through Harry's skin. 

“I hope so.” Zayn says back, wondering why Harry says so many things he doesn't mean. 

Zayn fixes him an impromptu meal for dinner, bell peppers and onions and chicken tossed into a skillet with half of the spices in his small spice rack mixed in. Harry teases him for it, calling him a proper housewife in between kisses to the back of his neck as he stands at the stove. 

They eat with their feet intertwined, Zayn feeling warm down to his toes. 

When they get into bed, the first time Harry's been in his bedroom in ages, Harry's the one lying behind him and wrapping his arms around his middle. He huffs, but he secretly loves being held like this. Harry's hands slip lower, until his broad palm cups Zayn's dick through his boxers. Zayn doesn't gasp, he was already expecting it. The plans for this were laid out the moment Harry pulled into his driveway. Harry's predictable, that same little bag of tricks he's had since he was seventeen. They aren't teenagers anymore, and Zayn shouldn't feel so overcome by a solid hand on his dick. 

Harry just feels the shape of him, like he's trying to memorize it. He pulls down his pants enough for Zayn's cock to be exposed, already half hard.

The first touch of Harry's hand makes his hips buck up, dry and on the wrong side of painful, but enough to send shocks down his spine. He almosts whines when Harry takes his hand away, flat palm moving up until it reaches Zayn's mouth. Harry just holds it there, like a question, and Zayn stares at the lines engraved in his palm until he gets it. He uses the thick of his tongue to wet Harry's palm, tasting the salt on his skin and hearing the faint sigh Harry makes behind him. He sucks in his pointer finger, always a show off, tongue pressed to his fingerprint and his teeth grazing his nail. Harry presses his finger in deeper, pressing until his knuckle is flush against Zayn's lip, and Zayn just sucks, mind flashing to Harry's cock pressed against his ass. Harry repeats, Zayn sucking on each of his fingers until he puts his hand back on him. His hand makes a wet sound when he pumps back against Zayn's balls, and he starts mumbling into Zayn's neck, “Wish I could fuck you.”

Zayn can feel Harry pressed tight against his back, the swell of his dick touching his ass, and he can imagine it easily, letting Harry fuck him like he has in the past. It almost feels too intimate too quickly, like he should hold back to make Harry keep coming up the drive.

“Not tonight.” Zayn says, without thinking. It implies there will be more nights like this, more nights of Harry falling into his bed, and he doubts that. Harry kisses the back of his neck and he jerks his hips against Zayn's ass, an accidental twitch. Zayn wants him closer, wants to feel his cock wet and hot against him. He fills full up with it, Harry kissing the back of his head and trying to rub off against his clothed ass. 

“Take my pants off.” Zayn says, and Harry pulls back enough to slip them off easily, tossing them to the fan folded duvet at the end of the bed. 

Zayn watches as he slips off his own, cock springing out and Zayn wants to reach out for him, but he doesn't move. Harry slide back up against his back, his dick wet against Zayn's ass cheek. He doesn't wait for Zayn to slick his hand, spitting into his palm. 

“Thought you were more posh than that.” Zayn laughs, going for humor but mostly sounding desperate. 

“You like it.” Harry says, wrapping his hand around Zayn, and he can't argue. 

He comes quick, quicker than he wanted, with Harry's thumb pressed to the slit of his dick. If feels a lot, like it always used to, and Harry's practically whining into his neck, breath coming out in hot signs and his hips rutting into Zayn's thigh. 

Zayn rolls over onto his stomach with a pillow under his hips and props his head on his shoulders, an invitation if there ever was one.

Harry gets behind him on his knees and slaps his dick on Zayn's lower thigh, leaving a wet mark. It's crude and Zayn loves it, can feel himself trying to chub up again. Harry gives an experimental slide with his hips, cock finding a perfect lineup between Zayn's cheeks. Zayn feels more exposed than he has in ages, Harry's big hand pushing him in the mattress and his other hand holding him open. His thumb presses against his hole, dry and unexpected, and Zayn's hips jerk into the pillow. It's too much after he's just came, and he groans into his arms. 

“Stop playing around,” Zayn says, voice sounding raspy, “Get yourself off.”

Harry starts rutting in earnest then, cock brushing against Zayn's hole on every thrust, racking him up the bed. Harry's plastered on his entire back, all consuming and warm. His dick is slick from pre come and it slides easily, and Zayn lets himself imagine it was inside him. How full he'd feel, how stretched and wet and dirty it would be. It's good, especially the way Harry keeps talking and talking, calling him beautiful and gorgeous, until he comes hot on Zayn's back. When he comes, it’s a chorus of Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, and he feels fucked down to his toes. 

Harry cleans him up gently like he always did, a wet cloth and steady hands. Even back when they were teenagers and picking up girls from bars together, once they'd left, Harry would clean him up like this. It's nice to watch him focus on it, cleaning Zayn's chest and soft dick while worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. 

He flops down beside him once he's done, and Zayn moves onto his back, watching as Harry turns into his side away from him. Zayn almosts rolls his eyes, because Harry's obvious, and he takes his place behind Harry, spooning him. Harry still has that faint smell of coffee, but he smells more like the food they'd eaten earlier and Zayn's own cologne. He falls asleep slowly, and thinks maybe Harry was right. Maybe things really will be better this time.


End file.
